Bertha Comes Home
by avalondaughter
Summary: What happened when Rochester first brought Bertha Mason to Thornfield? A chronicle of those years. Chapters alternate viewpoints. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is really a fan fiction for two books. The first is Jane Eyre of course, but it also pays tribute to Jean Rhys's book The Wide Sargasso Sea. The events of Bertha's early life, the story of her family, and many of the people mentioned as part of her past all come from that book. I have also chosen to keep a little of Rhys's sympathetic portrayal of Bertha as well._

**Bertha Comes Home**

**Chapter 1**

Getting the truth from Richard Mason was not easy. He certainly hadn't wanted to tell me anything before he helped arrange my marriage. Yet as things were falling apart and I was growing angrier over what had happened to me, he was coming to realize that he could not hide anything any longer. As we sat over drinks at his home in Spanish Town, I was finally able to intimidate the truth out of him. He only needed a glass or two of rum before he was practically sobbing the details.

"So Mr. Mason was not her father? She is not your full sister?" I asked, hardly believing it as I said it.

"N-n-n-o," stuttered Mason. "What difference did it make? My father raised that girl. He doted on her. He did everything he could to support her after the unpleasantness with her mother."

"Unpleasantness," I practically spat. "The woman was completely mad and whisked off to an asylum. Your choice of words is interesting."

Richard was practically trembling by now. "Can you blame her? After Antoinette's father died the estate fell into ruin. No one would work it after the emanicpation. She was alone and destitute for years before my father came to Jamaica. Then once my father bought Coulibri and restored it, the locals burnt it to the ground in resentment. Antoinette's little brother died in that fire because he was too crippled and stupid to leave the house. My stepmother had a very unhappy life. Antoinette was a very lonely child. We had hoped you would make her happy. I saw no reason for her to go mad once she had a respectable husband who would love her and take care of her."

I pushed it harder. I wanted the whole story. "And her real father," I said. "What killed him, exactly?"

Richard was almost hysterical. "Emancipation troubles, I tell you. Trying to run a planation with no one to work it and no money coming in made his heart give out."

"So you're telling me that drink had nothing to do with it?" I demanded.

"I don't know," Richard said. "It's all rumor that he drank himself to death. I hardly spent any time in Jamaica when my father married Annette Cosway. I never heard the talk."

I wasn't finished with Richard Mason yet. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know everything Bertha wouldn't tell me. I wanted to know if every rumor that the servants and people in town was true. I almost pitied the poor man practically cowering as my line of questioning grew angrier. I demanded "So what of her cousin? What of this Sandi I have been hearing about?"

Old Cosway had a few bastards. I know that much. His son, Antoinette's half-brother Alexander, is said to be quite successful and handsome. Alexander's son Sandi is also quite handsome. He and Antoinette were friends as children. I know nothing else about him."

"So you don't know about how she was sneaking out and seeing him behind my back?" I asked.

Richard did his best to lie. "You're listening to the servants talk. It's all gossip."

"Come now," I said more gently. "Tell the truth Richard. You were afraid if you didn't marry her to a respectable Englishman right away, she might continue to consort with the coloured folks on the island. You bought her an English husband for a very dear price so she wouldn't marry this handsome rich Sandi, or at least share his bed."

Richard's spine straightened. His face grew angrier. "Fairfax," he growled. "I will not tolerate these insults against my sister much longer."

I began to laugh. The idea that Richard Mason could stand up to me was completely ridiculous. I laughed like my mad wife. I had to laugh or else I think I might go mad myself. I changed the topic of conversation.

"Do you know what, Dick?" I asked. "I received word that my elder brother has died. I'm no longer the disinherited younger son. It turns out I don't need your sister's money. My father is dying of the same illness that killed my brother. Thornfield and all of its vast holdings will soon be mine."

Richard was doing his best to compose himself. "So what will you do now, Fairfax?"

He seemed anxious about my plans. I would hold back nothing. "I'm leaving this damnable place. I don't ever want to see the West Indies again. I'm going back to England to claim my estate, and I'm taking Bertha with me."

Richard went white. "You can't do that Edward. This is her home. You staying here was part of the arrangement."

"There is no contract saying Bertha and I have to remain in Jamaica for the rest of our lives. You just assumed we would because I had nothing left for me in Englad. My position and fortunes have changed, Dick. England is where I belong and it's where I want to live. Your sister's money belongs to me now and you have no control over it."

"Please, Edward," Mason begged. "Let her at least stay here. She is so fragile. She'll never withstand being torn away from her home. She will go even madder than she is now. We have people here who care for her."

I laughed again at the idea. "Who will care for her?" I asked. "Will it be that crazy black obeah woman who sets her drunk and gives her all kinds of poisonous potions; the one who tried to poison me with her black arts?" It wasn't poison of course. It was a failed love potion that had made me desire Bertha so badly for one night, only to be so physically sickened and emotionally disgusted the next day.

"Why not?" argued Mason. "Christophine has taken care of Bertha since she was a baby. When she is with Christophine, she is very calm and content."

"I'll not have it," I shouted. "I'm not leaving her here so that everyone in these islands can gossip about us. They'll gossip about you too, Mason. Don't forget that. If I take her back to England, no one will know of her, and everyone in Jamaica will forget about her eventually."

Richard sighed with defeat. "I have no legal grounds to stop you. She is your wife. I only ask that you do your best to care for her. I hope that she never wants for anything."

Somewhere in Richard's eyes I saw relief. He may have felt morally obligated to come to her defense, but I knew that he was just as happy to no longer have her well-being on his hands. He could wash his hands of her as long as I promised to care for her. "Don't worry Dick. I will care for her to the best of my abilities. I have many resources available to me now."

"Thank you, Fairfax," he said. "I hope you will allow me to visit when my travels take me to England. Please know that if you need a holiday from the English winters, you are welcome in my home here in Spanish Town or my estate in Madeira."

I was touched by his continued affection for me even after all of this trouble. Richard Mason was not a bad man, just not a terribly intelligent one. "You are always welcome at Thornfield, Dick. If your sister will see you, then you are free to visit her."

With that we parted company. I would make arrangements for our voyage to England in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: This is really a fan fiction for two books. The first is Jane Eyre of course, but it also pays to Jean Rhys's book The Wide Sargasso Sea. The events of Bertha's early life and the story of her family all come from that book. I have also chosen to keep a little of Rhys's sympathetic portrayal of Bertha as well._

**Chapter 2**

I don't know how long I had been in that room. It seemed I slept all of the time. When I slept I had bizarre dreams. In one dream I was back at Coulibri and I ran towards Christophine's kitchen house. She pointed me in the direction of the mansion when I reached it, but it burst into flames. I awoke hoping that I might still be in my room at Granbois, that my honeymoon hadn't ended and that Edward would take me in my arms and tell me I was safe. Instead, I was in this strange room, overlooking the crowded streets of Spanish Town. I thought I could go back. I thought I could find Christophine and she might help me, but every time I tried to leave, a large angry woman sitting outside my door would stop me and make me drink something. The drink was bitter, but it made me sleep and in sleep I could escape into dreams.

I heard knocking on my door and he came in. He looked frightened. I enjoyed this somewhat. I preferred his fear to his hatred. He kept a distance from me. "Bertha, are you well today?" he asked.

"I think I am," I said. "I am very tired. It seems I sleep all of the time."

He ignored this and became harsh again. "I want you to gather your things and prepare yourself for a voyage. Take whatever you wish, but make haste. We leave next week."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"I'm taking you back to England with me. I don't like Jamaica and I have no reason to stay here anymore."

I was overjoyed at the news. We were going to England. I had wanted to go for so long. "England!" I exclaimed. "I'm so happy you are finally taking me there." I was so taken with the news that I ran to my husband and embraced him. I threw my arms around his neck, but he simply stood like a statue.

"That is quite enough," he said. "Get your things ready. Do not give anyone any trouble and do no make any other attempts to run away."

I let go of him. "I don't have to run away now that I know you're taking me to England. Can I take my red dress? I know you like my red dress." He had admired it on the first night of our honeymoon at Granbois. I had always hoped that he might see me wear it again and would be as happy as he was that night. "I will get it now," I said. I ran to my clothes press and grabbed it. I began to disrobe so I could change into it.

"Not now, Bertha," he said walking towards the door.

Still half clothed I ran to him. "Why not now? Why not?" I caught up to him and put my arms around his neck again. "Say die and I will die." I looked into eyes for a moment he seemed to relent. He had always loved our long afternoons together when he would say, "die" and the world was beautiful. He put his arms around me. I pressed my lips to his. If only I could make him see how much love I was capable of. He might love me again.

He pushed me away. "No more of that," he said. Dress yourself and decide what you want to take with you to England. I'll send Marie and Cecille to help you pack."

Startled and hurt by his harshness, I ran back to him. I grabbed him from behind. I don't know what else I did. I only know that somewhere, someone began to hold me back, someone else forced me to drink something, and I was once more asleep. I awoke to find my hands were bleeding through bandages and my throat was sore as if I had been yelling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Our voyage so far had been frightful. Bertha had made several attempts to leave her room and sometimes shouted and banged on her door. I had reserved all of the cabins on our side of the ship so that we would have no neighbors to hear her cries, but I'm afraid she made so much noise, the other passengers in other parts of the ship were bound to hear. I could only hope that I would see none of them again once we returned to England.

I had someone guarding the outside of her door and I paid him well to keep his silence. Still, nothing could guarantee safety from that lunatic. At one point in our journey I heard commotion in the passageway and looked out to find my wife attempting to impose her salacious ways onto the guard. Her arms were around him and she clung to him in the same desperate way she had done to me.

Infamous daughter of an infamous mother! She doesn't care whom she is loving.

The guard was no fool and managed to press her back into her room without my assistnace. Unfortunately, the trouble didn't stop there. A few minutes later I began to hear a horrible banging and more shouts. The guard and I decided to go into her room and investigate.

She was trying to smash her porthole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He said we would go to England, but we have yet to reach it. Once more I am confined to one room, unable to leave. Each time I try, a man outside my door pushes me back. If I resist him too hard, Edward comes in with another man and once more I am forced to drink that potion of mad dreams.

I tried to plead with the man outside my door. I walked outside and said to him, "Please can you help me? I'm trying to get to England."

"You'll be there soon enough," he said. "Now go back into your room and lie down."

I threw my arms around him. "Please. Don't send me back. Please help me. Get me out of here. Please…help me."

He tried to push me away, but I clung to him. Then I saw Edward coming out of the room next to mine.

He cried, "Bertha, loose that man now and get back into your room. No more of your whoring ways."

I was thrust back into the room. The door was shut once more.

Above my head I saw the window. Through that window I saw nothing but the blue sea. Maybe if I could just let the sea in, this could all be over. Let the sea overtake me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It was a relief to finally reach England. Once we arrived in London, I placed Bertha temporarily in the most respectable private asylum I could find. I put her in there under the alias of Antoinette Cosway. I only wanted to put her there temporarily until I could make the arrangements to bring her to Thornfield. But first I had to warn my father.

I returned to Thornfield to find it darker and gloomier than I had remembered it. Everyone was still mourning the death of my brother, and awaited the inevitable death of my father. I was touched that John and his wife were so pleased to see me back. I could only wish my own dear father would be so happy to see me.

My father lay on his deathbed in his chamber when I went to see him. I had no idea what I was supposed to feel. I had considered my childhood to be a happy one because my father had left my behaviors unchecked, and so I enjoyed a childhood of freedom and wildness. It wasn't until I was older that I realized that this was because he had cared so little. I was the unimportant younger son. He had cared enough to try to secure me with a future by helping arrange my marriage. However, he had cared very little for how I would suffer for that money.

I entered the room quietly. "Father?" I asked.

His eyes opened. "Edward. Is that really you? Have you returned from Jamaica? Where is your wife?"

He asked these questions innocently enough. I wondered if his mind was in the right place, or if he was pretending that he hadn't done anything wrong by marrying me to Bertha Mason.

"I have returned. My wife has been detained. I think you know why," I said.

He suffered a coughing fit before speaking again. "The Masons are a good family," he said. "They will take care of you. Do you know they own a shipping company that moves goods from Madeira and the West Indies to Europe? What an excellent business! They will see to your future." He coughed again.

I grew angry. He thought everything was fine as long as I had access to the Mason fortune? Is that all he would ever care about? "My wife is not a Mason. You know that. I am sure you know that. Her money comes as much from the sale of the ruined properties of her mad mother as it does from the Mason shipping fortunes."

"So what if it does?" my father asked. "Money is money no matter where it comes from."

"Her family properties were owned by a detestable drunken slave owner. That should matter."

My father laughed until he began to cough again. "You have much to learn Edward. You are yet young. Everyone has to suffer for their fortunes. Some will suffer more than others. Why should you or anyone else escape that fate?"

"Have I not suffered enough, Father?" I cried. "You would give me nothing, then saw to it that my fortune would be provided by a lunatic. I would rather have been a poor man than experience what I have been through. I am going to have to suffer for the rest of my life. I never even needed to. Rowland is dead. The estate is going to be mine."

My father contemplated this for a moment. "So it is. I'm sure you're happy to see your old father pass on. Once I'm gone you will be able to afford all of the women you want if your wife doesn't suit you. Once I'm gone you can provide yourself with everything you think I never provided you." A very severe coughing fit seized him and seemed to wear him out. He fell back to his pillow in a semi-stupor.

"There is nothing that will provide me with what I most wanted from you," I said quietly. Realizing that my father would never feel any remorse for the situation into which he had placed me, that he would never respect me as his only heir, I turned around dejectedly and left.

I thought of how a fortune would mean little to me if I could only have something like real love.

Then I realized how much like my wife I really was.

My father passed away three days later. Although the entire neighborhood came to mourn him, it seemed few tears were shed at his funeral. As a landlord he was known as greedy and difficult. I vowed I would treat my tenants better and be better liked by those in the neighborhood. Of course I also planned to spend as little time in the neighborhood as possible. I wanted to be as far removed from the maniac as I could be for as long as I could be. I had the resources to travel all over the world if I could, and I meant to do so.

Once my father was buried I began to make arrangements to bring Bertha to Thornfield. The asylum was able to recommend a caretaker, a very able woman named Grace Poole. She had the added advantage of being an expert seamstress. This would allow me to bring her to Thornfiled under the guise of helping Leah, the housemaid, with the household sewing. I had the perfect room on the third floor for me to keep Bertha locked up. It had a small antechamber that led into a larger back room. I designated the smaller room as a sewing room and then hung a tapestry to cover the door to the larger room. Leah could even join her in the sewing room when Bertha stayed quiet.

I hired a private coach to take us from London to Thornfield. I did not want John to see Bertha or know of her existence. Once we had arrived, I had my surgeon, Dr. Carter examine her. I told Carter that she was a distant relative who had been abandoned by that branch of her family and that I felt sorry for her and decided to take her to England where she would be cared for. I know he did not believe me, but he was paid well enough not to question me or to spread any gossip.

So began my life as the master of Thornfield, with its mistress locked up in the attic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I thought I must be dead. I was a ghost. I never wore anything more than a white shroud. I tried once to take my red dress from the clothes press. When I held it against me, I could smell the scent of home. Although Mrs. Poole let me take it out and hold it, I could not put it on. It would no longer fit the contours of my body. Yet it felt as if I no longer had a body.

Mrs. Poole often drank from a small flask she kept at her hip. Sometimes when she drank a lot, she would sleep very heavily. When she did so, I was able to take her key from her and explore the new world where I had been placed. I was told I would go to England. Perhaps I was dead and had gone to Hell.

One night I left our rooms and decided to look for Edward. I descended the stone staircase and traversed the corridors below. I saw paintings of strange people who seemed to be looking at me with cruel intent. They mocked me because I saw no living person. I approached one as if it could talk to me. "Where is England?" I asked. It simply stared back. I began looking in rooms. They were all empty. I grew weary and my candle was burning low. I took refuge in an empty bedroom and lay down on a bed. It was more comfortable than the one I usually slept on. For a short time, I felt safe.

I awoke to find Edward standing over me. "Get up Bertha," he said angirly. "How did you get here?"

"Edward, I exclaimed. "I found you. I knew I could find England if I left that place. Are we going to England now?"

He did not answer. He pulled me up by my arm and led me roughly back to the stairs. Soon we were back in that room. Mrs. Poole was still asleep, snoring heavily. He shook her soundly. She startled awake.

"Grace," he said.

Mrs. Poole looked up him and me, frightened. "Mr. Rochester, what has happened?"

"It seems you were sleeping so soundly that Bertha was able to get the key away from you."

She was flustered. "I'm so sorry sir. I will do a better job of hiding the key in the future. Not easy to do in this small space you know."

He saw the flask lying on the floor. "You might also sleep less soundly if you stayed away from this," he said thrusting it in her face.

"So sorry, Sir. Won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't." With that, he left the room.

I sat down on the floor and wept. I was going to be in Hell forever. I would never go to Englad. I was dead. I was a ghost haunting this stone hell.

I longed for someone to comfort me. I wished I were a child in Christophine's arms again. I needed someone to make me feel safe again.

"Mrs. Poole?" I asked.

"Yes," she said wearily.

"Do you sing?"

She looked shocked. "Sing? No dearie. I don't sing. I doubt I could carry a tune in a basket."

I continued. "He used to sing to me when I was scared. He sang to me just like Christophine, my nurse, used to do to me when I was a child. I wish someone could sing to me now."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. I don't sing a note," she said.

I began to sing myself. I sat on the floor and stared straight ahead and began singing the old songs that Christophine had sung to me as a child. I just sat and sang and sang.

Eventually Mrs. Poole began to stroke my hair. "You poor thing," she said. I turned around and held her. She was shocked by the gesture and did not warmly receive the embrace, but she did not push me away. I continue to sing and she continued to stroke my hair stiffly. Eventually I fell asleep. I slept well and did not dream.

The next morning I felt sick. It seemed I was feeling this way more often. I was often dizzy and weak and could not eat breakfast in the mornings. I noticed Mrs. Poole staring at me as I bent over my chamber pot, heaving, hoping it would purge me of the sin and evil that was keeping me in Hell.

I looked back at her, wondering why she looked so concerned.

"We must tell the master," she muttered.

"Tell him what?" I asked.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

I was in the library taking care of my father's unfinished business in preparation for a journey to Europe. My family owned a villa on the south of France and I had hoped to spend a few months there isolated from Thornfield and all of its unpleasant associations. Suddenly I saw Mrs. Poole appear in the doorway. It was not like her to leave her post and I felt it could lead to mischief.

"Sir," I heard her ask.

"What is it, Grace? Why are you not at your post? Where is Bertha?"

"She's asleep," she replied. "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about Grace? What could be so important that you would risk leaving her alone in the daytime?"

Grace looked directly at me. She was not put off by my gruff attitude. Grace knew that her position at Thornfield was secure. Few others would be willing to take her post. "Do you realize that your wife is with child, Mr. Rochester?"

"That can't be," I said.

"Why not?" Mrs. Poole said. "If I may speak frankly sir, you have made a visit or two to the attic when you were drunk. It breaks my heart to see that girl weeping when you leave, but she is your wife. You have been married for a year now. The two of you have had plenty of time for something like this to happen."

"How can you be sure," I demanded.

"It's become unmistakeable," Grace said. "She's sick every morning. The signs are becoming very evident in her belly. You should see her try to wear the clothes she brought from Jamaica."

"Can you attend her," I asked.

"Mr. Rochester, I have no skills in midwifery. I would suggest you bring that surgeon of yours up there when the time comes," she said.

"No. It cannot be. No one can know of this. This is not even likely to be my child and I will not let it be known that a child was born at Thornfield. The child of Sandi Cosway or whoever it belongs to will be put away and maintained at a distance."

"Sir," Grace said. "I have no training for this."

I met her direct gaze. She was going to know that she was not as indispensible as she thought she was. "Grace, in all of the years you have attended the insane, are you saying that you have never seen a woman in Bertha's condition?"

She looked down finally. "Yes sir. I have. I have witnessed a few births in my life."

I had no more to say. "It's settled then. You will attend her. I'll make arrangements to get the baby away from here as soon as possible.

Without a reason to continue to argue, Mrs. Poole admitted defeat. "Very well, sir. If you'll excuse me I will return to my patient."

"Thank you, Grace. You are dismissed."

When she left I threw down my papers in disgust. I would not be able to leave Thornfield now until the child was born. Then I would have to create more deceptions to get it out of the house and maintained. I wondered just how long it would be until Bertha delivered. Could the child really be mine, or was it the child of one of her lovers? Would the child be as mad as its mother?


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry to take so long to continue with this. I had in mind where I wanted to go with this story, but haven't been terribly satisfied with the results. _

**Chapter 8**

I stared into the fireplace. I had little energy for much else. I watched the flames. I remembered how the flames had engulfed Coulibri and took away from me any sense of safety I had ever had. Fire is revenge. Fire purges your enemies.

"Stop staring at the hearth and come eat your breakfast, Bertha" Grace said testily.

"My name is Antoinette," I snapped. "He calls me Bertha. He doesn't want to address me by my mother's name."

Grace sighed. "Please just come eat your breakfast, Mrs. Rochester."

I ignored her request and continued to stare at the fire. "Do you know they burned down my home when I was a child?" I asked her.

She grew more impatient. "Yes yes. You have told me all about it. I'm sorry that happened to you, but no one is going to burn down the house now. You might as well eat."

I stood up to take the bowl of porridge from her hand. I moved slowly now. My body was so heavy. I felt as if a giant weight were bearing me down all of the time.

Grace observed me as I stood. "I'm glad to see you have an appetite now. You still have some months to go, but you're growing large. That's good. You'll need your strength."

I barely listened to her as I devoured my breakfast. I wanted to eat all of the time. I wondered if this was why I felt so large and heavy. Grace told me there is a baby coming. I could hardly believe her. How could a baby be born in such a place as this?

When I was finished Grace said, "I really must get permission from the master to feed you more. Mary always tells me I take too much from the larder and that I will exceed the budget. I'll have the master speak to her."

I continued to stare into the fire. Fire was destruction. Fire was Hell. Fire was revenge. Fire was purging. I was completely transfixed by the fire. Grace had learned to tolerate this. At first it disturbed her, but she said to me one day, "It's better you stare at the fire than have one of your fits," and that was the end of her worries.

I stared at the fire and dwelt on Hell well into the day and evening. Suddenly I felt a pain in my belly. It was sharp and torturous. It hadn't lasted long, but it was agony while it lasted. The shock of it was so bad that I jumped up and gave a yelp.

Grace, who had been quietly sitting nearby, sewing and drinking from her little flask, took immediate notice. "What is it?" she asked.

I began to walk about the room, clutching my belly and moaning. Grace stared at me. "Oh dear," she exclaimed. "It can't be. It's much too soon. Try to rest," she said to me.

I tried to rest and the pain subsided, only to come back again. Grace looked panicked. She ran to the water jug. "We need water and more clean sheets. I must tell the master. I don't know how we'll be able to bring these things up here without anyone noticing. Dear, dear me!"

She stayed with me, trying to soothe me for a while. She soon grew very agitated. "I must go and fetch some help," she said. She took her key and went to the door. "I must leave you for a little while. Stay here and be as quiet as you can. She left and locked the door behind her. I was alone and terrified. The pain returned even more intense than ever. I began to scream as loud as I could.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Never before had I heard such an animal cry. It seemed to ring from one end of Thornfield to another. There was no chance that no one had heard it. I would have to find some explanation for the sound. I would have to buy the servants'silence for the rest of their lives.

I ran to attic staircase to find Grace coming down. "What is going on Grace," I asked.

"She's delivering I think," Grace said. It's too soon. I doubt the baby will survive. I would be surprised if your wife does. Can we please fetch a doctor?"

All I needed now was for another person to witness this disaster. "You will attend her, Grace, as planned. She is strong and will survive. If the baby doesn't survive, then it wasn't meant to."

Grace gave me a look of disgust. "You are a hard-hearted man," she said. "At least let me fetch some water and clean linens."

I escorted her as she went on her errands, making sure no one saw us. We returned to the attic together. I found Bertha lying on her back on her bed. She was moaning and ghashing her teeth, her legs spread apart and her head flailing. She looked every bit the mad woman she was.

"I think you should leave us now, Mr. Rochester," Grace said. "Wait by the door and watch for anyone. If anything happens to her, it will be on your conscience."

I retreated to the front room and kept guard through the night, listening for sounds from within as well as without. Such inhuman cries were like any other and they continued through the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The pain grew worse as the night wore on. If I had ever needed confirmation that I had truly gone to Hell, this was the proof. The oppressive weight continued on my belly. The pain that shot between my legs was agonizing. It seemed to never end. As soon as I felt some small relief, the pain would start again.

Grace stayed by my side the whole time. She went to the foot of my bed and began to look between my legs. "Keep going, Bertha," she said. "It's coming. I can see it. It will all be over soon."

Something seemed to slide out of me. The pain subsided. I lay my head back on the pillow and allowed the sweet relief to wash over me. I saw Grace pick something up. It looked like a baby. She was right. I had a baby. Was it really possible? "Grace, is it really true that I had a baby?" I asked.

"Just rest," she said. "You'll be fine."

"What about the baby? Can I have it?"

"Never mind about that," she said. "You must rest and let me take care of everything."

I grew enraged. "No. You said I was having a baby. I want my baby." I was tired, but the rage within me grew. Everything I had ever loved was taken away from me. I would not allow this. Somehow, I managed to stand. Somehow I was able to overtake Grace as she walked away from my bed and began wrapping the baby up. I grabbed her and looked at the child.

The baby was tiny, too tiny to live. It was gray and lifeless in her arms. I had spent these months denying my child, and now it wasn't going to live.

I remembered that it was his child too. Edward had ceased to visit me. He continued to hate me. How he must have hated the baby too. How could any baby live with a mother who denied it and a father who hated it. I fell to the floor in exhaustion and began to sob.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Grace emerged from the room after what seemed like several agonizing hours. She carried a tightly wrapped bundle in her hands.

"It's over, Sir," she said. "What do you want to do with the body?"

For a brief moment, I wanted to unwrap the bundle and see my child. Considering it had come prematurely, there was now no doubt that it was mine. One of my drunken visits to the attic in recent months had produced this unfortunate child. Then I became disgusted with myself. I hated my weakness of the flesh that had brought me to Bertha's chamber. This child was better off in a grave than on this earth with its lunatic mother. I had no desire to care for it knowing it was the spawn of my own hateful conduct any more than I had wanted it when I had thought it wasn't mine.

"The sun isn't up yet," I told Grace. "I'll go to the gardener's shed, find some tools, and bury it myself. No one must know of this."

Grace gave me one of her disapproving looks. "As you wish, Sir," was all she said. She placed the bundle on a small table and made her retreat to the inner room. A pang of remorse hit me yet again.

"Grace," I called to her.

She turned around wearily, "What is it, Sir?"

"How is Bertha? Is she well? Will she survive this?"

Grace seemed pleased that I had asked. "I think she will be all right. I gave her something to help her sleep. I'm afraid of what the grief will do to her in the future though. She has suffered much." Grace's look continued to be angry and disapproving.

I followed Grace into Bertha's room. Bertha lay on her bed. She looked tired, but was not asleep yet. I tried my best to be kind to her. I sat down next to her and stroked her hair. "Are you well, Bertha? I'm sorry that the child did not survive."

For a moment she snapped out of her stupor. She violently shoved my hand away and I quickly backed away from her, knowing that she could be dangerous during her fits. She was looking directly at me.

I had never seen such pure hatred in her eyes.

I bolted from the room before she could attack me. Then I took the unfortunate bundle and ran outside. I was not observed by any servant as far as I could tell. I found a spade in the gardener's shed and buried the child in a field a good distance from the mansion. I moved like a madman myself, huurying to bury the body unobserved before the sun had fully risen. Once the task was completed, I ran back to my own chamber and tried to sleep, but I was not surprised that sleep did not come to me.

As the weeks passed, I tried to put the incident behind me. I continued to make arrangements to leave Thornfield for the Continent. One day Grace came to me in the library again.

"Mr. Rochester," she asked. "Would it be possible to take your wife on an outing?"

I gave her a puzzled look. "How can she possibly go on an outing? What do you have in mind?"

"She is flying into more fits lately. I think the confinement is making her worse. Let her go outside and get some fresh air. She might stop believing she is in Hell and believe she is actually in England."

Grace's tone was accusatory as usual, but what if anyone saw her? "How can you remove Bertha from Thornfield?" I asked her. "I know you think I'm a cruel man, but I'm just being practical."

Grace explained how she could leave the house with Bertha and bypass the servants and would only take her for a walk down some of the back roads. No one would know who they were and Bertha was likely to stay quiet if I wasn't nearby or my name was not mentioned. I was concerned about her clothing as confinement and pregnancy had rendered her figure too large to wear the clothes she had brought from Jamaica, but Grace said she had been making a dress for her. With all obstacles removed, there seemed to be no reason not to let them go. I was tired of the whole business. I gave Grace leave to take Bertha out. I hoped no mischief would come of it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

It seemed for a long while Grace spent some extra time sewing. She appeared to be making a new dress. The morning she finished me, she handed it to me.

"Try this on, Bertha," she said.

I looked at it with contempt. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to wear anything other than this white gown. "Why should I wear that?" I asked as if I were a petulant child.

"The master has given consent to let me take you out for a day. You can't walk around dressed like that," Grace said.

We were going out? I would leave this room and go to England? I was delighted. "Grace," I exclaimed. "Are you taking me to England?"

Grace looked cross again. "When will you learn that we are in England?"

I ignored her and ran to my clothes press. "Where is my red dress?"

"It's right there," Grace said. I found it before she even had a chance to say anything.

"I want to wear this," I said holding it to my nose and smelling the scents of tropical blossoms that still lingered on it.

"You can't wear that anymore. It won't fit you. You'll just have to wear this dress I made you."

I held the dress against me. It was made in St. Pierre, Martinique – the Paris of the West Indies. How Edward had admired it! Maybe if he saw me in it once more… Then I remember what he had said of me. "Does it make me look intemperate and unchaste?" I asked Grace.

"Just come eat your breakfast and put your gray wrapper on. It's cold. I'm sorry that this new dress isn't as nice as your old ones, but the master won't give me a budget to make you anything nicer."

The dress was stiff and black and plain. I would never have worn anything like that in Jamaica. Still, we were going to England. Maybe this new dress was what they wore in England.

We ate our breakfast and I donned my stiff new dress. Grace bade me to be very quiet. I followed her out the door to the long hallway and down the stairs. I saw the portraits on the wall that I had seen the night I had escaped that room. They mocked me less in daylight. I paused when we passed a room with masculine furnishings and I saw Edward's cloak lying across a chair. I could even smell his scent. Was this where Edward slept? We went down another staircase and crossed a grand hallway. Grace stopped every once in a while to watch and listen. We finally made it to a door, which Grace opened slightly and peered through cautiously. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she bade me to pass through its threshold.

Before me I saw a landscape so unlike Jamaica it took my breath away. Everything was green. Grass covered gentle rolling hills. The trees were unlike anything I had seen in the jungle. Even the tallest ones grew apart from each other. There were gardens full of flowers in the distance, but they were tidy and organized. The blooms were small and numerous rather than the gigantic, but sparse blooms of home. The bushes were square. Nothing grew wild here. Everything was neat and orderly as if we were inside a house. Curious to take this all in, I began to run.

Grace called after me, "Bertha, you must stay with me or I will have to take you back inside." Not wanting to spoil my new adventure, I went back to her side. She looked around again and then began to follow a path away from the house we had just left.

We walked down an empty road for a while. The entire time the sky never changed. It was gray and cloudy. The air was damp and cold. It was not a very pleasant day, but it was better than being inside, so I continued to walk. Occasionally we encountered people on the road. Grace kept her head down and grunted to them, hurrying past them as quickly as possible. Once I tried to talk to them, but Grace grabbed my arm and pulled me along.

Grace grew tired. We came to a large dry rock under a tree and she sat down. "We'll stop here for a while," she said. "Are you hungry?" She pulled some bread and cheese from a bag she carried with her and offered me some. I took some. She bade me to sit with her, but I still felt restless. I wanted to see more of England. "You don't have to sit, but don't go anywhere without me."

I realized then that I could run if I wanted to. Grace was not young and I could probably run away from her easily. I thought about it for a moment. Then I looked down the road ahead of me. I saw nothing but more trees and grass and road and endless cloudy sky. Where would I go? How do I know the people were safe? Maybe they would hate me the way Edward hated me. Maybe they would all be angry with me like the servants at Coulibri. I suddenly felt very unsafe and afraid. I decided to sit down next to Grace after all. After eating Grace pulled out her flask. Although she seemed to fight it, she fell asleep.

I had no idea what to do while Grace slept. I began to think about how unsafe I felt and how I had no friends in this cold and empty land. If Edward hated me, then maybe everyone else here did too. What would stop people from hurting me again? Yet I was so lonely. I wanted someone else to talk to me.

I heard the sound of a horse coming down the road. I did not know if I should hide or greet them. I decided to greet them. I saw that the horse was pulling a small wagon. The wagon was loaded with tin pots and plates and spoons and knives and all manner of metal objects. When the woman who was driving it saw me, she pulled the horses to a stop and climbed down from her seat. The woman was old looking. Bristles of dark hair stuck out from an odd black bonnet. Her clothes were dirty looking and fit her loosely. When she spoke to me, I saw she had very few teeth.

"Good afternoon, Dearie," she said. "Is there anything you'll be wanting for your household today?"

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," I said to her. "What do you have?"

"Come and have a look," she said. "I'm sure I have something I can offer you.

She gazed at me very directly. For a moment she looked frightened. She quickly stepped away from me and gestured to her cart again. Curious, I looked through it.

Amongst some tin cups and plates I saw a knife. It was a large and sharp carving knife. It was the kind of knife that would protect me against all of my enemies. If I had a knife like that, no one could harm me.

The old woman saw what I was looking at. "You like that knife? I'm not sure you should have it. I don't like the look I see in your eyes. I'm afraid you would do no good with it."

"Please," I begged. "I need it for protection. I've always needed something to protect me." It was true. As a child at Coulibri I kept an old shingle with me in bed. It had nails in it when I first found it, but Christophine pounded them out. Still, having it with me made me feel safe. I would feel safe with that knife.

"Very well, Dearie," the old woman said. "It is yours for ten shillings."

I hadn't thought of the price. I had no money with me. She noticed my hesitation.

"No money, eh?" she asked. "I still think you're up to mischief, so I'm not sure I should sell it to you anyway, but perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

I noticed she was staring at my neck. I realized that she was staring at the locket I was wearing.

I remembered when my stepfather gave me that locket. After my mother's confinement, he began spending more time with me, visiting me often at the convent school I attended and bringing me dresses and jewelry I could never wear. I was almost finished with school the day he gave me the locket. He had told me that he was selling his properties in Antigua and Trinidad and that he hoped they would help make a handsome dowry for me. He said he was already meeting with potential suitors and hoped one would make an acceptable husband. He also said he wanted me to travel more outside of the West Indies and see England. I only saw him a few more times after that before he died.

The woman eyed my necklace and held the knife in front of me. My mother was gone. My father was gone. My stepfather was gone. My younger brother was gone. I had no idea if my Aunt Cora was still alive. My stepbrother Richard had married me to Edward and then abandoned me. I had no one to help me anymore. I needed that knife. I unfastened the locket and handed it to her. She handed me the knife.

She looked into my eyes once more. "See that you stay out of trouble. I'd hide that knife if I were you." She mounted her seat in the cart and drove away. I was alone once more. I hid the knife beneath my skirts.

Grace awoke soon afterwards. She insisted we go back inside. I had not wanted to. I wanted to stay in England instead of going back to Hell, but I knew better not to argue with Grace. At least I had my knife now. Nothing evil would come near me in the future.

Grace was alert and nervous when we went back to that gigantic old house. We made it back to our rooms without anyone seeing us. While she cooked our supper, I hid the knife under my mattress. She saw nothing and was soon drinking from her flask and was asleep again.

While she slept I stared into the fire as I liked to do. Once more I thought of how the workers at Coulibri had taken their revenge on my family by burning our house. I thought of how I would be protected from anyone harming me again now that I had my knife. I thought of how fire could rid us of our enemies. I had my knife for protection. I knew that fire was revenge.

I continued staring at the fire and thought about this. Then I began to laugh.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Grace Speaks**

One day at Thornfield was very much like any other for me. I spent every day in that tower with that unfortunate girl. I watched her change through the years. When I first came to Thornfield she was a delicate and scared little thing. Confinement, lack of sunlight and childbearing had changed her completely. Her figure grew bloated. Her eyes were more or less permanently bloodshot. Her face was always pale, but with very flushed cheeks. Her once lovely dark hair was often matted as she rarely let me brush it. Often she was quiet, but sometimes she would have violent fits that she would never remember the next day. Sometimes I preferred these fits to the way she would sit and stare at the fire for hours laughing her strange laugh. She sounded almost like a demon sometimes.

The master would leave Thornfield for months at a time, returning only for brief periods. When he returned she was always at her most agitated and violent. One day he returned from a trip abroad with a little French girl with him. According to the other servants, he said Adele was his ward. Although she was likely to be his bastard child, she looked nothing like him. Still, seeing this child made me wonder how he might have treated his son had he lived.

Mrs. Fairfax eventually employed a governess for the girl. She was a mousy, quiet, and scared young lady, but she worried me. During her free time she would often come up through the attic to the roof of Thornfield to stare out at the countryside, sometimes for hours at a time. She struck me as a girl who was too romantic to know the ways of the world. Sometimes she would even pace the hallways back and forth when she came down. I'm sure she heard Bertha's laugh when she came through the attic. If I ran into her in the halls on my way to the servants' supper, she would question me. The neighborhood surrounding Thornfield was awash with rumors of a mysterious lunatic in the attic. Miss Eyre knew nothing of these rumors, so her curiosity was greater than most. I was afraid that her inquisitiveness and restless nature would put her in harm's way.

The next time Mr. Rochester returned to Thornfield, he stayed far longer than he had stayed in years. The servants understood why. He was in love with Miss Eyre. The servants were perplexed by this, but I understood his reasons. It was true she was rather plain with no figure to speak of, but she was so different from his once-beautiful wife. The servants thought nothing would come of it. She had been educated at Lowood school, whose rules and religious drills were little better than those of a convent. Miss Eyre was far too devout and modest to ever fall prey to Mr. Rochester's affections, especially as he was not particularly young or handsome himself. I, however, had my worries. I could see that Miss Eyre harbored something in her soul that might lead her down a dark path. Already one unfortunate woman had traveled that road. I could only imagine what would be in store for such a naïve young woman in these circumstances. Still, as the days went by, the servants did observe that Miss Eyre did not seem to notice Mr. Rochester's affections and continued her governessing duties with the same modesty and decorum she had always displayed.

One day Bertha was extremely quiet despite the presence of the master in the house, so I let her spend the day in my sewing room where she could look out the window. Mrs. Fairfax had given me a fair bit of mending that day, so I hadn't been minding Bertha very much and let her stare as she pleased. Even absorbed in my work, I could sense her suddenly becoming distressed. I heard her utter a small cry.

I looked out the window to see what she had seen. Adele, the young French girl was playing by herself with the master's dog. Mr. Rochester and the governess were standing beneath an old horse chestnut tree and appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation. Even from this high up, I could see that he was telling her something important and personal. I could also see that she was deeply enthralled by him. Would Miss Eyre continue to be so modest and sensible, or was she falling prey to Mr. Rochester's affections? Looking at my charge, I know how she felt about the situation. I ushered her back to her inner chamber before she could see any more. I came out and took one last glance out the window. If one didn't know better, one would think that the master and the governess were lovers.

"No good will come of this," I muttered. "Mr. Rochester should know better and that poor governess knows nothing."

Bertha had been willing enough to go back to her room. As soon as she did, she sat down in front of the fire. Soon she began to laugh her demonic laugh. I could hardly stand it. I took my pint of porter and drank it as fast as I could. I fell asleep to the sound of her laughing.

I never felt her take my key from my apron pocket.


End file.
